


The Final Battle, Part 1

by closetcellist, DelusionsbyBonnie, The London-in-the-Air Archival Society (sakuuya)



Series: New Adventures of the London-in-the-Air Archival Society [6]
Category: Battle for London in the Air
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya/pseuds/The%20London-in-the-Air%20Archival%20Society
Summary: Rescued set descriptions (and set images, where possible) from round nine of the Polyvore battle group The New Adventures of London-in-the-Air. Primarily not my work, uploaded here for archival purposes.





	1. Round Information / @sakuuya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya). It was part of the set-up for this round.

Hello once again, LITA friends!

Thanks to the valiant efforts of the OCs last round, the government reanimation program has been dismantled and most of the mechanical men and women have been put to rest, no longer posing a threat to the rebellion. The rebellion also “liberated” a bunch of high-tech weaponry, which you can detail as you see fit. The scientists responsible for a lot of the reanimations are dead, but the masterminds behind the project, Charlotte Sterling and G. Rufus Doland, are still active.

Additionally, Percy Albright has been revealed as the Archivist (and consequently promised to STOP being the Archivist). In an effort to smooth relations with the rebellion, Albright shared the information he has on the government—so assume your character knows any government-aligned character’s secrets that you want them to—but mistrust between him and the rebellion’s leadership is still high.

Despite these two major threats being neutralized, all is not well for the rebellion. In the wake of the destruction of the government’s secret labs—something that, unlike the burning of Gilded Hall, the government can’t blame on the rebellion, because that would mean admitting there was a secret lab under there in the first place—attacks on the rebellion by General Scarborough’s traditionally-alive troops have intensified. Battles are raging in the streets. Forrester James protected the Tau base last round, but one of the other bases, the one on Omicron, has been breached by government soldiers.

People assigned to the Omicron base fled with as much information as they could to the remaining bases, but the safety of those isn’t guaranteed, either. If you want something to happen at the base on the Epsilon-Iota crossing, please PM @.lunaofthemiste. If you want something to happen at Dr. J’s infirmary on Omega, please PM me. If you happen to BE Luna or me, feel free to mess up the base you’re in charge of with impunity. And anyone can mess up the main base on the Lambda-Nu crossing… or the Tau base if you want a barely-existing NPC’s sacrifice to have been for nothing. ;)

EXAMPLE SET: https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=236493444

\-----

This NPC death section has changed from the previous rounds, so please read it thoroughly!

To represent the explosive nature of this round, I’ve opened up the list of potential deaths considerably. You can (and in fact must; see the description requirements in the next section) choose exactly one NPC to kill off. In a departure from previous rounds, your OC does not have to be the cause of their death—they can be, but if you want to instead write about a rebellion-aligned NPC dying during a heroic last stand or something, go ahead! In fact, you’ll notice that the bulk of the people on the killable list are rebellion-aligned; I really do want the rebellion to suffer some casualties here. If you want some ideas for how folks might die, see the plot wrap-up set (https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=217300035), but your story does not have to match up to their cause of death there. I’ve left potential causes of death off the list entirely because I don’t want to fence you in. :)

Unlike previous rounds, you can’t save specific NPCs, but if you REALLY don’t want to have to decide on somebody to kill off, you can ask someone who’s already claimed an NPC if your OC can witness that same NPC’s death. I’d appreciate a PM letting me know if you take this option, just to help me keep the record straight. And killing nameless soldiers/resistance members/civilians/etc. doesn’t count against your one-character limit. Additionally, you can (of course) kill your own side characters with impunity. Heck, if you want to kill off one of your named, established side characters INSTEAD of a group NPC, I’ll consider that a fulfillment of the requirements.

If you’re wondering why a particular character isn’t killable right now, well, there are four reasons I left people off the list. The first, obvious one is that a bunch of NPCs are dead already (see the graveyard, here: https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=233126138). The second is that they’re one of the remaining players’ OC’s endgame love interest. The third is that they’re one of the big bads, whom I’m saving for next round, the final non-wrap-up round. Finally, the fourth reason is that they’re potentially important to the plot of LITA season 2.

Since this is so open, please please please let me know whose death you’re gonna be writing about as soon as you’ve decided, in order to minimize discontinuity. If there are conflicting accounts of an NPC’s death, it’s not the biggest deal in the world, but I’d like to avoid it if possible. If it does happen, whoever claimed that NPC (or who put their story up first, if neither person made a claim) will have the “official” version of their death.

NPCS MOVED TO THE DEAD LIST AFTER LAST ROUND:  
\- Forrester James (Killed while misdirecting soldiers away from the rebellion base on Tau)  
\- Dr. Thornton Kern (killed by Kara (@.fashionqueen76) during the raid on the government labs)  
\- Warren Herald (died in the destruction of the government labs)

NPCS WHO DEFINITELY DIE THIS ROUND:  
\- G. Rufus Doland (claimed by @.multifandomgal)  
\- Gina Gunn (claimed by @.sakuuya)  
\- Ambrose Lynch (claimed by @.delusionsbybonnie)  
\- Helena Spencer-Curtis (claimed by @.lunaofthemiste)

NPCS WHO COULD POTENTIALLY DIE THIS ROUND:  
\- Percy Albright  
\- Tommy Black  
\- Avery Curtis  
\- Fortuna Doland  
\- Ben Easton  
\- Bram Emery  
\- Phoebe Emery  
\- Eugenie Howard-Dutch  
\- Daphne Massey  
\- Roger Ridley  
\- Elmira Hazard  
\- Geneva Ross-Hazard  
\- Any MITA or Low Town characters (see https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=2070793220) EXCEPT Homer Casey, Patience Whitcomb, and Blarion and Celine Abinall

\-----

SET REQUIREMENTS  
[ ] 1+ pictures of your character  
[ ] 1+ pictures of another OC or NPC who appears in your story  
[ ] Fire or an explosion  
[ ] A design seed  
[ ] A repeating text filler

DESCRIPTION REQUIREMENTS  
[ ] Write about your character’s involvement in the battles breaking out around LITA  
[ ] Include the death of exactly one group NPC in your description  
[ ] End your description with your OC in a bad spot. They can be hurt, or mourning a fallen comrade, or having an existential crisis, or literally hanging from a cliff, or whatever. But your description should end at a low point, for the drama~  
[ ] How does your character feel about the rebellion’s general chances right now?  
[ ] Tag the mods @decoder13 and @sakuuya

 


	2. Andrew O'Rourke / @delusionsbybonnie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @delusionsbybonnie, aka [DelusionsByBonnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie).

The streets were quiet as Andrew made his way home, the twilight air holding a breathless tenseness. He pulled his flat cap down, keeping his eyes low as he crossed a wide street, empty of its usual bustle. There was no actual curfew in place, but no one wanted to be caught by a squad of soldiers. It was probably heedless of him to go to work at all, but it might look more suspicious if he just disappeared.

He shut the tenement door behind him with a sigh. After the attack on the Omicron base, any uneventful day was its own triumph. He hadn’t given up hope yet, but damned if things weren’t looking grim. He trudged up the stairs and unlocked his own flat, shutting the door with a snap.

“Liam?” No reply. He tossed his hat onto the table and shrugged off his coat. Liam should have been here. Surely he wasn’t asleep. Liam never napped.

“Don’t move, O’Rourke.”

A gun barrel pressed to one’s back was an unmistakable sensation. Andrew raised his hands slowly. “No trouble here. Who’re you then?”

“Into the bedroom.” The man’s voice was dispassionate, professional. Bad news. It would be easier to deal with a personal grievance, but no such luck.

Liam was tied to the flat’s single chair with a handkerchief stuffed in his mouth. He garbled something, and Andrew sighed and shook his head. “Can’t understand you, Liam.”

“Don’t talk to him. Sit on the bed. Now, O’Rourke, what do you know about my daughter’s murder?”

Andrew gaped up at the man holding the gun. “Ambrose Lynch?”

The pistol barrel twitched impatiently. “I’m asking the questions. What do you know?”

“She… it was a terrible misunderstanding. I’m sorry, Lynch. One of our people… Massey was the traitor, and your daughter tried to take him out. One of our people stopped her.”

“Who?”

“I can’t tell you that!” Andrew looked scandalized. “Chrissake, man, you work for the government!”

“Tell. Me.”

The gun did not waver. Lynch was a professional, but this… was deeply personal. Dammit. It was absolutely Liam who had brought Lynch to Andrew’s doorstep. Andrew fidgeted, reaching slowly for the key in his pocket.

“It wasn’t Liam and it wasn’t me. That’s all I can tell you, Lynch.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“Dammit, Lynch!” Andrew flung the key at Lynch’s face, diving across the bed and praying that Lynch wouldn’t just shoot Liam where he sat. He didn’t hear an immediate gunshot, and scrabbled in his pocket for his knuckleduster. It wasn’t what he’d have chosen against an assassin armed with a pistol and heaven knew what else, but it would have to do.

Andrew jumped to his feet and swung at Lynch, knocking the pistol from his hand. Lynch was already twisting away, reaching into his coat. Andrew kicked the gun under the bed as Lynch pulled a knife, lunging toward him. Andrew sidestepped and knocked the blade aside with his left forearm, wishing his bedroom wasn’t quite so small. Lynch pressed forward again, knifetip seeking an opening. Andrew swung again, holding up his left arm to block, driving Lynch back against the wall and grabbing for his right wrist. Lynch brought up his knee and Andrew spat a curse, losing his grip. Lynch brought the knife in, stabbing low, and Andrew smashed the knuckleduster into his face once, then twice. The knife clattered to the floor as Lynch slid limply down the wall, crumpling into his long coat.

Andrew pulled the handkerchief from Liam’s mouth before untying him. “You’re bleeding,” Liam observed as Andrew fumbled with the knots, fingers suddenly clumsy and shaky.

“The hell I am. Just brought my fists to a knife fight, didn’t I?”

“No, your side. He stabbed you.” Liam stood gingerly as Andrew began trussing Lynch’s wrists with the rope. “And I don’t think you’ll need to be doing that.”

“What?” Of course Lynch needed tying up before he regained consciousness and tried to kill them both again. Liam wasn’t making sense.

“He’s dead, Andrew.” Liam bent over the body, searching for a pulse. “Must’ve hit him just right. Takes care of that problem, at least.”

Andrew sagged to the floor. “What problem, Liam? What bleeding problem? The one where you bring your trouble onto the heads of my friends? The one where you can’t leave the past well enough alone?”

“We have all made sacrifices for Ireland, Andrew--”

“No, Liam! I’m done with it! You’re my brother and I love you, but by God I am done with your kind of revolution.” Liam, brow creased, opened his mouth to reply, but Andrew cut him off. “I killed a man for you, Liam, an Irishman, and all you’ve got for me is empty words.” He struggled to his feet, wincing, and pulled his coat back on. “I’m going to Doc to get fixed up. There’s twenty pounds in my spare coat. Take it and go home and fight your own damn battles. Goodbye, Liam.”


	3. Dr. Jhandir / @sakuuya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya).

Dr. Jhandir was reorganizing supplies in his office when he heard the door open. He let out an annoyed huff at whoever had left it unlocked—Suttler, in all likelihood. Not everyone in the neighborhood had realized that he was no longer offering his services to the public, and an unlocked door was practically an invitation for the unwashed masses to invade his home. He looked up from his work, ready to turn away yet another dockworker or whore, and was shocked to see Fortuna Doland standing in his doorway in one of her customarily garish, over-designed dresses.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, too tense for pleasantries. Mrs. Doland was singularly unlikely to be the spearhead of an invasion, but her presence was so incongruous that his brain was screaming at him that something must be wrong.

Mrs. Doland somehow managed to look down her nose at him despite being several inches shorter. “Daphne sent me,” she said haughtily. “I need to speak to whoever’s in charge here.”

“That would be me, Mrs. Doland.” Dr. Jhandir tried to keep the scowl off his face as she looked him up and down. They’d met a handful of times back when he worked for the government, but there wasn’t a flicker of recognition in her face. “What do you want?”

“My goodness, but I suppose this espionage business takes all sorts. And I imagine I shouldn’t ask how you know my name. I came to bring you this.” She held out a trembling, gloved hand, which held a folded piece of paper, sealed with wax.

Dr. Jhandir left her there—it was rude, but he wasn’t particularly interested in being obsequient toward this woman—while he retrieved a pair of gloves from his desk. He wasn’t about to take any chances. He pulled on his gloves before delicately taking the paper from Mrs. Doland and breaking the seal.

It looked like a personal schedule. Her husband’s, presumably, though it was annotated in a distinctly feminine hand.

“What am I to do with this, Mrs. Doland?”

“I want to put Rufus in your custody. Your organization’s, I mean. He’s doing some awful things to corpses with that horrible Lady Sterling, and he needs to be saved from himself.”

Dr. Jhandir left her again without responding. He knocked on, then opened, the door to Caroline’s lab.

“Caroline?” he said. The girl looked up from something she was soldering and pulled her goggles up onto her forehead. “Fetch Phinn for me. There’s someone here I think he should be aware of. Fetch Heaton, too.”

“Yes, sir.” Caroline stood up from her overflowing workbench, wincing as something metallic clattered to the floor. Nonetheless, she came through the door and disappeared up the stairs to the parlor. Mrs. Doland looked put out by the doctor’s sustained inhospitality, but she bore up well.

“Why come to me? Since you don’t want to remand your husband to my personal custody.”

“Daphne said that this was the neighborhood where I was least-likely to be recognized.” Which was probably correct, though Dr. Jhandir couldn’t imagine how anyone could fail to recognize Mrs. Doland, in that absurd dress that she probably thought made her look inconspicuous.

Phinn came rushing down the stairs, with Heaton close on his heels and Caroline trailing behind them. Dr. Jhandir had asked for Heaton because he thought that the assassin’s presence would unnerve Mrs. Doland, but her expression softened when she saw Heaton.

Mrs. Doland explained her plan to the assembled group, how she would help the resistance kidnap her husband and what times and places she thought would be best. Despite Dr. Jhandir’s earlier statements, she seemed convinced that Phinn was the ranking rebel.

“I have a condition, though,” she added, looking at Phinn. “Rufus is not to be harmed. I just want you to tuck him somewhere out of the way until this all blows over, so he can’t hurt anyone with those terrible mechanical men.”

“We already have your information,” Dr. Jhandir said flatly, waving it. This woman really was woefully unprepared for what she was trying to do. “You have nothing to bargain with.”

Phinn tried to smile, but it was a lopsided, ungainly thing. He said, “Of course we won’t hurt your husband! We’re grateful that—”

At that moment, there was a loud rap at the front door; everyone turned toward the noise. Caroline darted to the window and peered out.

“There are soldiers out there,” she whispered. The soldiers knocked again, harder.

Dr. Jhandir rounded on Mrs. Doland. “You led them to us!” he hissed. “This place was entirely secret until you showed up!”

“No! I even made sure I wasn’t followed!” she responded, voice quavering.

“Maybe it wasn’t her fault,” Phinn said darkly. “May I see your brooch, ma’am?”

The brooch was a jeweled dragonfly, decorated with rotating gears. Mrs. Doland’s face was white as she handed it over. Phinn held it to his ear and gave it a shake. Then he smashed it against a nearby crate until the gears snapped and pinwheeled away.

“Who gave this to you?” Phinn asked, much more gently than Dr. Jhandir would have been able to, under the circumstances.

“Ch-Charlotte. You don’t think it was some kind of spy device, do you?”

“It was a locator. I’ve made things like it before, but they’re very rare. It’s not as though you could have known.”

Mrs. Doland looked like she might faint at that news, but Dr. Jhandir didn’t have time for hysterics, not when soldiers were about to break his door in. He cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Phinn, start the evacuation,” he said, glaring at Mrs. Doland. “If they’ve gone around the back, you’ll have to use that tunnel out of the basement Mr. Thornton was working on. If you see Ms. Gunn, send her to me. Caroline, you get Mrs. Doland out of here. And stay out of sight! Heaton, hold them off for as long as you can. I’ll secure as much information as possible and meet you all at the rendezvous point. Get going!”

The group scattered even as the rapping at the door continued to increase in volume. Dr. Jhandir followed Phinn upstairs, but as Phinn started to explain the situation and prepare for evacuation, Dr. Jhandir hurried back into his own bedroom. He unlocked his desk and shoved the paperwork he was keeping therein—including all the documents he’d taken from the laboratory under Gilded Hall—into a leather traveling case. There was no time to worry about organization. After making sure his desk was clear of incriminating documents, he grabbed his pistol, as well as a pesticide squirter Caroline had devised.

Dr. Jhandir looked around the room and into his closet regretfully. He should have been prepared for this, should have started moving things to a safer location ages ago. But he’d been so bloody careful, for years now, only for that fool Mrs. Doland to muck it all up.  
From downstairs, he heard the crash of his door being kicked in. He threw some clothes into a bag, but he couldn’t realistically take much more than that.

Gina Gunn was waiting for him in the otherwise-empty parlor when he came back out, some kind of absurd gun holstered at her hip. She looked calmer than he felt, though he’d always had difficulty reading her.

“Ms. Gunn. Phinn told you what’s happening?” She nodded, so Dr. Jhandir continued: “I want you to execute Operation Bobby Tops.”

She looked more excited about that prospect than the doctor thought was seemly. “Really? I distinctly remember you raising hell when I proposed it, trying to assign me so much other work that I wouldn’t have time to set it up, and then insisting on that silly name.”

“This isn’t the time,” Dr. Jhandir snapped. “Do as you’re told. Wait as long as you can to set it off, then meet at the rendezvous point.”

“I don’t think that’ll be possible,” Ms. Gunn said, her smile taking on a wistful quality. “Bobby Tops was designed to be executed from your office, but that’s impractical, what with it being full of soldiers. I can jury rig it to work from up here, but there’s no coming back from that.”

“If you’re sure,” Dr. Jhandir said, trying not to let his horror at her cavalier attitude show through. He didn’t want to dissuade her, exactly, but he had trouble believing she understood what she was volunteering to do.

“Yes, I’m sure! Hell, this is always how I hoped I’d go. Just one thing: Give Charlotte Sterling hell for me, would you?”

“You have my word.”

“Great! Now get out of here.”

It would probably have been safest for Dr. Jhandir to leave out of the safehouse bedroom via the rope ladder, but he was a bit overburdened, and he didn’t trust that his bad leg would support him as he climbed down. He had to risk going downstairs.

Dr. Jhandir cautiously opened the door to the stairs and looked out. Heaton, aided by a couple other young rebels, was putting up quite a fight against the soldiers attempting to gain entrance; the office floor was already littered with the bodies of Scarborough’s troops. Dr. Jhandir crept onto the landing and locked the door behind him, to buy Ms. Gunn some extra time.

When he looked up again, two soldiers had broken away from Heaton and were heading up the stairs. Dr. Jhandir’s gun was in his pocket, so he instead went for his pesticide squirter. Caroline had done good work on it. The arsenic acid sprayed across the soldiers’ faces, and they tumbled backwards down the stairs, clutching at their eyes. Dr. Jhandir hurried down as quickly as he could with his injured leg, but one of the soldiers made a blind grab at him as he passed, and he fell, his squirter rolling out of reach.

He hurriedly pulled his pistol from his pocket. He wasn’t a particularly good shot, but at this range, he didn’t have to be, and the man let go once Dr. Jhandir put a bullet in his brain.

“Heaton!” the doctor yelled as he stood. “Get out of here! Bobby Tops!”

Without making sure that Heaton understood, Dr. Jhandir scurried into Caroline’s workroom (to put as many doors as possible between himself and the soldiery), then down the trapdoor to the basement. It took him a long, panicked moment to open the heavy metal door to the secret tunnel, but he made it through without hearing any footsteps behind him.

Cedric Thornton knew what he was about when it came to burrowing through LITA’s infrastructure, but he’d died before the tunnel could be finished, and, what with one thing and another, no one else had gotten around to completing it. Thornton had planned to rig up some incandescent lights along the ceiling, but the construction had been done by lanternlight. Once the heavy door to his basement slammed shut behind him, Dr. Jhandir was left in absolute darkness.

He felt along one of the walls as he went, making slow, careful steps and wishing he’d brought his cane. The tunnel was, he knew, furnished entirely of bare metal, and that was why his footsteps sounded so uncanny as he moved through that suffocating darkness. But he kept freezing up regardless, hearing pursuit in the echoes of his own movement. He had toured this tunnel when it was being built, but it felt alien now, not to mention much longer than it had back then.

He could only hope that the other bases were faring better than his was, and that they didn’t have anyone as stupid as Fortuna Doland hanging around. He’d been sanguine about the loss of the base on Οmicron. It wasn’t as though much critical work had been going on there. His infirmary, though, was important. With so many injured in the continuing attacks, he wasn’t sure the rebellion could survive without a dedicated medical facility, and if the government could find his infirmary, they could certainly find any of the other bases.

At one point, there was an explosion. Dr. Jhandir felt it as much as heard it, the blast making the whole tunnel shudder, though the air wasn’t much disturbed. He stopped, because he knew what that explosion signified: Everything he owned, the careful life he’d spent nearly four years building, all reduced to rubble.

He nearly fell to his knees, suddenly weak from the immensity of what had just happened. But if he lost the strength to go on, who would ever find him down here in the dark? He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and kept walking.


	4. Dr. Suttler / @closetcellist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @closetcellist, aka [closetcellist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist).

It was a trickle, at first, not a flood, but a trickle of the worst kind—the leak in the ceiling that preceded the roof falling in—the scattered and injured rebels coming in to roost where they could. Suttler had been collecting as many supplies as he could in the wake of the Omicron breach; it had seemed prudent to regroup as much as possible, but everything was happening too quickly. He hadn’t seen Chauncey since he’d heard about the breach and that as much as anything else spurred his hurried dedication to doing as much as possible now, always now, filling up the minutes with as much as they could hold.

Suttler saw the flames of the Infirmary from streets away and that had been warning enough, though a quick jog through the alleyways confirmed the place was surrounded, though there was little left to surround. The scene was horrible, though a different kind of horror than the others he’d experienced recently—he could feel the heat of the blaze from here, and couldn’t imagine how the soldiers could stand there, so close to the scene of their decimation. He covered his mouth as he scanned the area, not knowing exactly what he was looking for, though his gaze was caught by a flash of color on the ground, just within the charred blast radius. For a moment he couldn’t decipher what it was, but as it clicked in his mind that it must be a dress, which meant the dark charred sprawled mass must be a body.

There was no one to see him wretch in the alley, and for that he was distantly grateful.

Adrift now, his two anchors removed, he acted on automatic thought and instinct, heading back down the alley to methodically, carefully, and quietly, check the streets around the infirmary, trying to find anyone who might have escaped, though now they were likely dead or gone.

He’d nearly made a full circuit around the wreckage site before he saw Andrew O’Rourke, though he nearly missed him, a shadow in the alley, pressed against the bricks, though the dim light was enough to make out his hair at the very least. Suttler crept closer, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was near to be alerted to their presence. “Mr. O’Rourke?” he whispered, his voice surprisingly hoarse.

He only realized Andrew’s eyes had been closed when they snapped open, the Irishman moving in a flash from a shadow against the bricks to a boxer’s defensive stance, the face of which had Suttler putting his hands up. “No, it’s me—” he got out, in a strangled whisper. “Irving.” and then realizing that might mean nothing. “Suttler.”

Andrew relaxed and slumped back against the wall, and now Suttler could see the blood, and the pain in the other man’s face as he spoke. “Sorry bout that,” Andrew murmured. “Didn’t know.”

“It’s all right,” Suttler whispered. “But what are you doing here? What’s happened to you? Were you in the infirmary?”

Andrew shook his head, pressing his hand to his side, though the blood was flowing well again with the earlier movement. “Got into a scrape with Lynch,” he said, closing his eyes again for a moment. “Was hoping the Doc could patch me up but…” he trailed off, and Suttler barely felt the minor twinge of annoyance underneath the rest of the worry and fear.

“I can help,” Suttler said. “I have supplies at my apartment, if we can get there.” Andrew looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment and Suttler graciously put that down to blood loss. “I’m a doctor too. I can help you.”

Andrew nodded then and pushed himself off the wall again, keeping his hand clamped over the wound. Suttler led the way, scouting ahead occasionally to make sure they wouldn’t be seen—it seemed following was the most he could ask of O’Rourke, but that was enough; he was fairly certain he couldn’t manage to carry the man all the way back to his rooms on his own.

It wasn’t a long walk, but it seemed to take hours, and when they finally slipped through the door, they were greeted only with a whine from Mallow—he’d forgotten to take the cover off of Alcibiades cage that morning.

Suttler directed Andrew to his bed, and quickly gathered the supplies he had on hand, which was more than usual, but not as good as he could have hoped, most of the best supplies having been in the Infirmary. Still, it should be enough. With only a second of hesitation, he cut away Andrew’s shirt around the largest bloodstain and tried to suppress a wince at what he saw there.

He wasn’t a surgeon, should not, it had been fairly sternly pressed upon him, be trusted with surgery, but it was clear intervention was necessary, immediately, and there was nowhere else to go; nothing else for it. It was, perhaps, for the best that O’Rourke lost consciousness then, though that meant he had even less time to act. Bracing his mind against the brightness of the blood and the sounds of violence and disruption in the streets, Dr. Suttler got to work.

 


	5. Rebecca Tyler / @lunaofthemiste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @lunaofthemiste.

Rebecca was regretting the white blouse she wore, especially as blood dripped onto it. She was also regretting her heeled boots, which would make it harder to walk amid the chaos. Not that she was walking, anyways - the smoke from the fire made it easier to breathe closer to the ground, and she was trapped, her leg pinned down. The base was mostly debris at this point, littered with paper, wood, fire, and blood. As she continued to struggle, she wondered how she got herself into this mess.

**~ FOUR HOURS EARLIER ~**

There was that moment, Rebecca found, where you were unsure of your surroundings when you awoke. The past few days, she had been experiencing this phenomenon every time she awoke in the small bedroom that Tristan called his own, so different from her elaborate suite in the Tyler manor. It had been a few weeks since she had been home, and she honestly felt better without it. There was no stress of worrying about her brother or Octavia - the only stress was what would happen if they found her.

She rolled over to face Tristan, who was still sleeping. The first night she had insisted they share the bed instead of him sleeping on the floor. She already felt like a burden to him and to his family, and didn’t want to be any more of a bother.

Tristan yawned and opened his eyes, looking sleepily at Rebecca. “Morning, Becca.”

“Morning,” Rebecca spoke softly, not minding the nickname anymore.

“You sleep well?”

“Well enough.”

Tristan nodded, frowning. “Do you smell food?”

Rebecca nodded. “I do. I don’t think Oscar cooks?”

Tristan scoffed. “He just makes a mess. It’s probably my mother, I doubt it’s Avery if it’s this early.”

“Oh….” Rebecca nodded, laying on her back. “Your mother….”

“Are you nervous?” Tristan asked as he was getting up.

“A bit. I wish I could make a better impression.” Rebecca sighed. “Especially since I’m practically living here without meeting her."

"She'll love you, you’re a writer like she is.”

“You’re just saying that so I won’t be nervous.” Rebecca pointed out.

“Yes, but I do think she will like you. Just don’t…take anything she says at first too personally.” Tristan shrugged.

Rebecca hesitated, then frowned. “She isn’t going to be happy about the base we’ve built in the living room, is she?”

Tristan winced. “Maybe not, but I’ll explain it all to her. You needn’t worry.” He assured her, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

**~ TWO HOURS EARLIER ~**

“Do we have a plan for today?” Oscar asked, walking with Rebecca and Tristan to the base.

“Compartmentalizing, I guess.” Tristan shrugged. “And preparing in case of an attack.”

“Do you think one will come to us?” Rebecca asked.

“Possibly, but we have to be prepared in case.” Tristan shrugged.

“I suppose, but that’s in the event that the location is found.” Rebecca argued.

“But there have been close calls before, at other bases. I don’t want to risk anyone taking ours.” Tristan frowned as they turned the corner. “Is anyone coming?” He asked.

Oscar shook his head. “All clear.”

Tristan unlocked the door, letting the trio inside. The base was the same as always, albeit more sparsely decorated.

Tristan took the note, opening it and reading it quickly. “We’re down a base,” he spoke softly.

“Which one?” Rebecca asked hesitantly.

“The Infirmary.” Tristan sighed. “A lot of people are missing.”

“They didn’t find bodies?” Oscar asked.

“I don’t think they could have. It exploded.” Tristan shrugged. “We have to prepare.”

“For what?” Rebecca asked.

“An attack. We’re next.”

**~ ONE HOUR EARLIER ~**

“So between the three of us, there are several knives, a few explosives, and only four handguns.” Tristan pointed out, frowning. “Our odds don’t look very good.”

“Maybe they’ll send a small group?” Rebecca mused.

“It’s still two against whatever they have.” Oscar pointed out.

“Two?”

Oscar gave her a look. “You think I’m going to let you fight the government?”

“I’ve been fighting the government, and I think I can take care of myself.”

“We don’t have time for this, Oscar.” Tristan sighed. “We need everyone or we don’t stand a chance.”

“Thank you…” Rebecca trailed off when she heard someone at the door. She nodded at Oscar and Tristan, as they each picked up a gun simultaneously, aiming it at the door. Tristan carefully approached the door, looking through the peephole and sighing.

“False alarm.” He explained, opening the door to reveal Helena.

“I come bearing gifts.” She explained, walking inside. “You three seem tense.” She added.

“We were expecting an attack.” Rebecca explained. “Especially after-”

“The infirmary? I heard. That’s why I’m here, you kids need all the help you can get.” Helena explained, putting the bag she had been carrying on the table. “Everything we need to fight off those rats.”

Oscar smiled. “This is good…good that we have supplies, not that the government is coming to kill us.”

“They’ll be coming any minute, so we better get started.” Tristan decided. “Let’s defend our base.”

**~ TEN MINUTES EARLIER ~**

“Do you think-"

“They’re here.” Helena confirmed quietly.

Rebecca swallowed, looking nervously over at Tristan. He gave her a reassuring smile, but it was still pretty clear that he was nervous as well. Helena and Oscar seemed tense as well, aware that the fate of their base could change the course for the rebellion.

At first, nothing happened.

Then, everything did.

The door exploded, sending debris everywhere. Soldiers were outside, waiting for orders to advance on the base. One of them threw a grenade that exploded before it hit the ground, destroying one of the desks.

Unfortunately, the debris from the desk fell at Rebecca, part of the top hitting her head. She slumped against the wall as the pain took over, seemingly unaware to the action and the blood dripping down her face.

Then she heard the shot.

It was hard to see from her position under the pile, as she wiped the blood away from her eye. The only reason this shot stood out, she reasoned, was because the other shots paused after it fired - and hit - the intended target.

Which just happened to be Helena.

Rebecca reached for her gun, only to find that it was gone, fallen out of her hand after the grenade. She struggled to push the debris off of her as the room suddenly went up in flames - it was likely one of the soldiers did this.

She couldn’t see Tristan or Oscar - she could only hope that they were alright and alive. A thought occurred to Rebecca - that she might die from the smoke, or from her leg, or from a soldier intent on killing any surviving member.

It was clear that she couldn’t write her way out of this.

 


	6. Liz Maximoff / @multifandomgal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @multifandomgal.

“Haha, perfect!” Elizabeth exclaimed, as she added the final touches to her latest project. She had designed it a while ago, but with the rebellion getting into all these battles, she figured it was time to make her idea a reality (well, another main thing that made it possible was some of the technology she had, erm... /borrowed/ from the government labs...). Of course, it would have been finished a lot sooner if she hadn’t had to suddenly flee from the Omicron base and set up at the Lambda-Nu one, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Besides, she’d managed to salvage most of her work, and not getting hurt or killed when the base was invaded was an added bonus; from what she’d heard, not all of the rebels had been so lucky. 

For a moment, Liz just sat there, hoping that things would get better for the rebellion very soon, and trying to think up more ideas for weapons that could help. Suddenly, however, her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, and the sight of a familiar face. Her friend, Bram Emery. 

“Hello Liz, I see you’ve got yourself settled in quickly! I just heard word that—"

“Bram! Oh goodness you have to come and see this! It’s my latest weapon prototype, and it should do the rebellion a world of good...” She held up what she’d been working on - a new kind of arrow. “With this, you don’t have to shoot your target perfectly, as the electrical impulse emitted from it will be enough to finish them off on its own! Pretty good right?”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Miss Gunn!” Bram joked, and Liz shot him a look that said “watch it”. The friends laughed for a moment, before Bram’s face suddenly turned serious again. “Um, Liz? The real reason I came to see you... they’ve found Doland; his wife told Dr. J everything. He’s been imprisoned here for the time being.”

Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief. From her tireless research, she had figured that Fortuna Doland would turn on her husband eventually, but really, Dr. J? “Can I go and talk to him?” She asked, sternly. 

Bram looked a little concerned. “Are you sure that’s the best idea, Liz? Mrs Doland specifically asked that he not be harmed...”

But Bram’s words fell on deaf ears, as Elizabeth was already marching out of the room, crossbow strapped to her back (just in case, for protection, she told herself). She’d been waiting a long time for this chance, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

A few minutes later, and Liz was scouring the lower halls of the base, hoping to find the one cell that was in use. The corridor was musty and dimly-lit, and having not been down here much, she didn’t really know her way around, but that wasn’t going to deter her. Eventually, she found what she was looking for; the cell right at the end, with a padlocked door and a dark figure sitting inside. As she came closer to the thick iron bars, the figure looked up, revealing their face. Doland.

“Ah finally, someone came! I’ve been waiting for those biscuits I asked for for hours now!” He smirked, with a twinge of malice in his eyes. Liz glared at him, silently, unsure which of the many things in her head she should say. 

“What? You didn’t bring them? Well, tell whoever comes down here next that I need some pillows too. It’s dreadfully uncomfortable in here!”

“You know what’s really uncomfortable? Your factories. My father could have died if he hadn’t gotten out of there when he did, and you couldn’t care any less! What kind of—” Liz’s sudden rage was cut short by Doland, who had started to laugh cruelly to himself. “So  _ that’s _ why you’re here. You’re after some kind of revenge. Well you’re not going to kill me; I know you rebel types, and you’d never murder an unarmed man...”

“Try me.” Elizabeth grabbed her crossbow and aimed the new electric arrow directly at Doland’s heart. “Now, if you don’t want to die, I suggest you start talking: why do you put your factory workers through such difficult conditions? Do you even care that they’re dying?"

"Well, you're certainly not the type for jolly conversation, are you?" Doland replied, completely avoiding her questions. I was clear that she wasn't going to get any straight answers from the man just yet, but at least she was sure that he wasn't going anywhere. Having him in custody was sure to add a little more confidence to the rebellion's forces, and surely they wouldn't mind Liz interrogating him from time to time. With a sigh, she turned her back and began heading back up the corridor, but was soon interrupted by Doland's voice again.

"You mentioned your father. What was his name?"

"Lucas. Lucas Maximoff." Liz replied, without turning to look at the man. She couldn't let him see that he was getting to her. For a moment, all was silence, but then Doland finally responded. "Hmm, no. I don't remember him. Probably wasn't one of my best workers..." He spoke coldly, with no hint of emotion, and that was the last straw for Elizabeth. Without thinking, she whipped around, aimed her crossbow, and fired. The arrow hit Doland in the shoulder, and he smiled cruelly for a moment; 

"Not such a good shot, then--" He was cut short, as it was in that second that the electrical pulse from the arrow was set off. Liz could only watch in shock as Doland's body convulsed and sparked with electricity, before falling to the ground. 

Oh, good grief, what had she done?


End file.
